Hope: Peering through a Veil

Hope is not a calculation,  

not a tally of gains or losses,  

but the ache of a heart  

stretched toward the horizon,  

a whisper of light  

breaking through the veil of the now.  

It does not linger in stillness,  

passive as shadows gather,  

nor wither into wishing,  

an empty hand grasping at air.  

Hope breathes—  

and in its breath,  

a spark becomes a flame,  

warming the coldest night.  

Hope refuses to yield,  

to let evil speak the final word.  

It stands defiant against despair,  

a protest against what-is,  

a midwife to the not-yet-born.  

There is a restlessness in this hope,  

a holy disquiet,  

a stirring revolution  

that will not let us sleep.  

It has seen the dawn,  

and in its light,  

the future world shimmers,  

not with the dull hues of habit,  

nor the dark chimes of business as usual,  

but with the effervescence of the possible.  

Hope is not a calculation,

not a tally of gains or losses,

but the ache of the heart,

peering through a veil,

longing for the day—face to face,

when every tear will be wiped away.

- Swales , 2025